


Won't Hurt Anything

by RaindropsOnDeadRoses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaindropsOnDeadRoses/pseuds/RaindropsOnDeadRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot, total fluff scene about the boys getting stuck in the Impala all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Hurt Anything

For about the twentieth time in a row, Dean flipped open his cell and checked it for service. Still, nothing. “God dammit,” he growled, banging on the steering wheel in frustration.  
Beside him, Sam sighed. “Dean. Calm down. Let's just wait out this storm, and then we'll walk until we get signal and call Bobby.”  
Dean just stared at him. “My baby's broken, Sam. She's broken, and I can't fix her, and you're telling me to calm down?”  
Sam shook his head, placing it between his hands. “Being pissed off isn't helping anything. That's all I’m saying. And you don't think as clearly when you're mad, so if...” He paused and made a small sound of discomfort before continuing. “If there's even a chance you're gonna figure out what's wrong with the car, it's a lot smaller if you don't chill.”  
Dean didn't speak for a moment, until he glanced over at Sam, whose knees were now pulled up to his chest, hands pressed even more tightly to the sides of his head. “Sammy?”  
“What?” Sam's tone was faux-annoyed, and Dean could hear the underlying pain.  
“What's going on, man?”   
“Nothing,” Sam lied.  
“Sam. C'mon. What is it?”  
Sam started to respond, but clamped his mouth shut as soon as he opened it, beginning to draw in quick breaths through his nose and rock back and forth in his seat.  
Dean knew the signs. He'd seem them since before Sam could speak. This was Sam's form of communication when he couldn't trust himself to open his mouth. “Gonna throw up?” Dean asked cautiously.  
In response, Sam rapidly pushed open the passenger door of the Impala and vomited violently onto the ground.  
On instinct, Dean was there, pushing Sam's hair out of his face and rubbing soothing circles on his back. “It's okay,” he assured his brother. “You're alright.”  
Sam stayed still for a matter of minutes, and then finally rose, pulling himself back into the car and shutting the door.   
“You sick, Sammy? Why didn't you say anything before?” Dean asked, hand still resting on the back of Sam's neck.  
“'M not sick,” Sam responded weakly. “Migraine.”  
Oh. This had only happened a couple of times before Sam left for Stanford, but Dean remembered when Sam's headaches had gotten so bad that they made him sick in more aspects than one. He also remembered what he'd done to help them go away. “Come here,” he ordered, not really giving Sam much of a choice in the matter and pulling him back against his chest like he'd done when Sam was much younger (and smaller, he noted) than he was now.  
Sam released a small grunt of disapproval, but made no move to escape Dean's arms.  
Dean placed his fingers on Sam's temples and pressed down lightly, beginning to move first side to side and then up and down. Sam hissed, and Dean stilled just long enough to gently stroke Sam's cheekbone with his thumb. “I know,” he whispered. “But it'll get better. Remember?”  
Sam did. He remembered when Dean had been there every time he got sick or scared or hurt, and he remembered how Dean had always known exactly what to do to make it better. “Yeah,” he breathed, leaning his head back against Dean's shoulder.  
“There you go,” Dean encouraged. “Just relax. I gotcha.” He began tending to Sam's head again, starting back at his temples, more gently at first, and then applying more pressure the longer his fingers worked. When Sam finally seemed a little more comfortable, Dean began moving his hands back along the sides of Sam's head, just above his ears, and then around and down to the base of his skull, right where it met his neck.  
Sam made a contented murmur.   
Dean smiled at the sound, glad he could still make his Sammy feel better, but his smile fell almost as quickly as it had appeared. His Sammy? Where the hell had that come from?  
As if able to sense his hesitation, Sam raised his head from Dean's shoulder and eyed him questioningly.   
“I miss you.” The words left Dean's lips without thought, and he immediately wished that he could take them back. This was the closest they'd been since Sam had come home, and he was sure he'd just ruined everything.  
But to Dean's surprise, Sam raised a hand to softly stroke his face. “I miss you, too,” he quietly admitted. “Every single day. I can't stand being so close to you and so far away at the same time. I wish things could just go back to the way they were before.”  
Sam's words caused something to suddenly snap inside Dean and he wanted to scream, then. He wanted to hold Sam's face inches from his own until his throat and Sam's eardrums both burst from the force of his yelling. It's your fault things aren't the same, he wanted to insist. You walked out, Sam. You. You left me, and everything changed. And then he wanted to cry. But instead, he asked, nearly inaudibly, “Why can't they?” because, really, he'd forgiven Sam a long time ago. His pride just forgot that sometimes.  
Sam's tears surprised them both, and Dean surprised them both even more when he did the only thing he'd ever been able to do to get Sam to stop crying when he was upset. He kissed him. It wasn't too long, and it wasn't at all erotic or deep, but it was so much more than enough. For the first time in Dean's life, his lips brought Sam's tears on harder, and if a few of his own fell, too, he wasn't going to acknowledge it as long as Sam didn't notice.  
When they broke away from each other, Sam's eyes searched Dean's, expecting to find traces of guilt or shame or any of the usual emotions that had siphoned from Dean when anything like this had happened between them in the past. Instead, what he saw was a shockingly tranquil expression warring with what he could've sworn was honest to god happiness. Stupidly, all Sam could think to say was, “Man, you must love me a lot. I totally just puked, and you still kissed me.”  
Dean chuckled, running his fingers through Sam's hair. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds a lot less appealing. But, you know, as long as you're not trying to open your mouth on me, I think it's safe.”  
Sam laughed, too, and leaned into Dean's chest, wrapping his arms around him. He expected Dean to push him away and tell him kissing didn't mean cuddling, but he was surprised when he felt Dean's hands press against his back. “Been wanting to do that since I got back,” Sam confessed. “I was just afraid.”  
At first, it seemed as though Dean was going to give Sam one of his usual cocky remarks, but he paused and let out a long breath before gently pressing his lips to the top of Sam's head and responding, “You don't ever have to be afraid of anything like that, baby boy. Not with me.”  
The old pet name brought back years worth of memories and a new pool of tears in Sam's eyes. He just clung to Dean even tighter.  
After a moment, Dean asked, “You feel better?”  
Sam nodded. “Thank you.”  
“Anytime,” Dean quietly assured him.  
“So...” Sam began tentatively. “Do you think this rain's gonna stop anytime soon?”  
“Honestly, Sammy, I don't know. But I wouldn't mind if it didn't. There're much worse situations.”  
Sam snuggled closer against Dean's chest. “Yeah. There are.”  
They remained silent for a moment, just taking in all of the new/old feelings surrounding them, and then Dean finally broke the silence, asking, “Did you think about me? Y'know... while you were gone?”  
Sam looked up at him incredulously. “Are you serious? Every second of every day, baby.” Oh, shit. Ohshitohshitohshit.   
Dean felt warmth flood through his body from his head to his feet, but he remembered the rule he'd given Sam. The rule about what had to happen every time Sam called him baby, because that was way too fluffy and feminine, and so it was okay for him to say it to Sam, but never, ever the other way around. So he raised an eyebrow and slowly asked, “Excuse me, Sam?”  
Sam cleared his throat, a blush creeping into his cheeks, and fuck if it wasn't the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. “Nothing,” Sam too-quickly responded.  
“Really?” Dean pressed. “Because it sounded an awful lot like... oh, I don't know... baby? And, Sammy, unless you've finally learned to appreciate the Impala the way she deserves to be appreciated, then I’m inclined to think you were referring to me.”  
“No idea what you're talking about,” Sam muttered, looking down.  
Dean began trailing his fingers as lightly as he could down Sam's sides. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”  
“Deeean,” Sam whined, sounding a bit like a twelve year old.  
“Rules are rules, Sammy,” Dean told him, feigning sympathy. “Sorry.” And with that, Dean began to attack Sam with his fingers, tickling him so fiercely that it would've been impossible for him to breathe if he'd been on life support.  
When Dean drew back for a half-second, Sam took in a deep breath and yelled, “STOP!”  
But, of course, Dean didn't listen, and got right back to it, just as vigorously as the first round. “I told you, Sam,” Dean said, speaking over his brother's whooping laughter/sobs. “If you wanna call someone baby, go find yourself a girlfriend.”  
Dean paused again, long enough for Sam to gasp, “Don't... want... a girlfriend.”  
' “No? What do you want?”  
Sam panted, but didn't respond.  
Dean held up his fingers and began wiggling them in front of Sam's face.  
That seemed to get things moving, and he blurted, “You! I want you, Dean. Just you. No girlfriend.”  
Dean nodded, satisfied, and then the realization of the nature of the conversation hit him at, it seemed, the same time as it hit Sam. “Sammy...” he began, but Sam pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.  
“It's okay,” Sam assured him. “Seriously. I wasn't even thinking about Jess. And... I didn't lie. I really do just want you. I've always just wanted you, Dean.”  
“You know, when...” Dean sighed. “After you left, I never... slept with anyone else.”  
Sam gaped at him, astonished. “You didn't?”  
Dean shook his head. “Nah. I mean, I messed around, but I never went all the way.”  
Sam knew he shouldn't be asking for more than what he now knew Dean had been giving him all this time, but he couldn't help wondering... “When you say you messed around, was that with...”  
Dean understood and responded immediately, making sure to erase the thought from Sam's mind as quickly as possible. “No, Sammy. No other guys.”  
Sam released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “Okay. I mean, not that I had the right to keep you from anything, and if you'd wanted to-”  
Dean cut him off by bringing their mouths together for a second time. “I didn't, Sam. I didn't ever want to.”  
Sam nodded in understanding. He hadn't wanted to, either. Never after Dean. He twined their fingers together, and his gaze absently flickered to the windshield, where he saw that the sky seemed to be dark and clear now, no longer full of gray clouds. He hadn't even heard it stop raining. “Well, looks like this is over. We could go now, if you want. Try to get service and have Bobby come tow us.”  
Dean thought for a moment before shaking his head. “We can call in the morning. He's probably already in bed. Don't wanna bother him.” It was only midnight. Bobby definitely was not in bed, and they both knew it. “Won't hurt anything to spend the night in the car, right?”  
Sam shrugged, writing it off like no big deal. “Nah, I guess not.” Best idea I've ever heard.


End file.
